Tom and Mortimer
by zstellmaria
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle knew only hatred, knew only despair, knew only darkness. And then there was Mortimer. And then he was gone.
1. Part 1 A dream to Remember

_Mortimer_. It wasn't a name he had forgotten. It was simply a name he hadn't cared to remember. It had been a lifetime since he had spoken that name. And yet today, for a reason he could not quite grasp, _that name_ had suddenly popped into his head.

It was the name of a boy he had known when he was young. A boy very unlike him - in fact - he was as far from being like Tom Marvolo Riddle as he could possibly was kind, cheerful and very energetic. He would often be compared to a puppy, running off into the wind at break-neck speeds only to come hurtling back. And he would walk for a while in silence, deep in thought it would seem, only to turn around and say something silly like: isn't it strange how some animals can fly and some can't?  
Thoughts of the past were like terrible nightmares to the man who now referred to himself as: The Dark Lord Voldemort. He repeatedly told himself that the boy Riddle was dead and gone and could never return. But still the memories rang clear in his mind and he closed his eyes, shook his head and simply stopped thinking. Today was not a day for reminiscing. Today was a day for action. Today was Thursday.

Voldemort ran a hand across his bleach white scalp and caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the window. He turned away from it, refusing to admit to himself that he missed the beauty of his youth, his short black hair, his pale but beautiful skin and his dark eyes. He didn't miss any aspect of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He didn't. But... he missed ...Mortimer.

No. He didn't.

Today was a beautiful summers day. The sun was glistening and the air smelled sweet and warm, but he hardly cared, sat in the drawing room of his fathers house. He walked to the window, the hem of his robe making no sound as it glided across the carpet behind him, and stared out across the grounds. He tried to imagine what it might have been like to grow up within the walls of this ugly house. And he would have turned up his nose at the thought, had he not lost it in the trade-off for a new lease at life. Well, if this is what you could call 'living'. But, at least, he was not dead.  
He could see the Gaunt's house from here, well, parts of it, through the heavy foliage of the trees and the bushes that surrounded that derelict mansion. For some reason he did not even want to imagine what life may have been like had he lived among the men his father had once referred to as 'tramps'. But what exactly would his father know? _He_ was a muggle. As if The Great and Powerful Lord Voldemort could have been conceived by a pathetic muggle! ...The handsome ...rich ...Tom Riddle... If he _had_ brought up his son... But then what would have become of the Heir of Slytherin! Of course everything was meant to be this way. All was going to plan... was it not?  
Voldemort brought himself out of his reverie, again, breathed in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh before gliding to the door and waving it open. He was quite thrilled when even inanimate objects obeyed his will, although him being a wizard made it quite difficult for them to refuse. He passed along the hallway, down the stairs and out into the entrance, where he stood for a while, the dusty yellow light shining through the gaps in the front door. His eyes clouded over again... _I remember the day we met. I was nine-years-old and I had decided to go for a walk. Why had I made that decision? I could hear children across the road in the park, boys, playing with sticks I thought... Then I crossed the road and peered around the fence... There were three boys - a blonde one with a dirty face - he looked about six. And two brown haired boys one short slightly chubby one - he was my age and-  
_"Master! Master, are - are you awake Master? Sorry to d-disturb you... I am here - as you a-asked..."  
"Ah, wormtail. As always you arrive when I least desire it. I asked you to come?"  
"Y-yes master but if you want me to go!" Pettigrew turned to leave, but something caught his eye and he stopped still. "Master, there is a muggle at the window!" Voldemort rose with such grace he seemed not to have moved at all and went to the window. he found himself staring at the hedges and dusty road. There was no person to be seen.  
"Get out Wormtail, I've had enough of your lies!" With a nervous squeak, Pettigrew fled muttering his appeal. Voldemort heard the soft open and close of the door and thought nothing of it, until the "pop" of a disapparation made him turn to the open living room door and raise his wand. "No muggle could move that fast..." He whispered. He waited, wand poised for quite a few moments, but there was nothing. No other sounds came. He let his arm drop to his side, breathed deeply and went to sit back in his grandfathers chair.

He sat and let the day roll by. Several times his eyes closed but sleep evaded him - as it always did. _I remember that day, you were the oldest of the three - older than me. Eleven. I think. And you were their leader - but not by choice - no, you would never make such a brazen declaration! But they truly respected you, the__y followed you everywhere. I can't recall their names... Those stupid muggles aren't worth remembering. Pathetic fools... But you... you looked at me, as if you recognised me - but you couldn't have... But then why did you blush? Did you know even then? Was it -_

No. And I was glad when he... Idiot! You made me so angry! Just thinking about you!

"GAH!" Voldemort leapt from his chair and threw out his arms causing bits of rubble to come flying from the ceiling. He stormed around the room, dragging a hand across his face as if to wipe something away. But there were no tears. The Dark Lord hadn't cried for many years. Not to say he hadn't ever cried. _I cried a lot that day._He shook his head. "All this lying low is starting to get tedious. Having to wait for those idiots to do such simple tasks! They weren't even pleased when I returned..."  
"(_Master, are you not well?)" _came a hiss from the doorway as Nagini slithered into the room.  
"(_Nagini,)" _he replied in parseltongue _"(I am quite fine. Have you seen any muggles pass you by?)"  
"(There is one at the window)" _she hissed softly _"(One is surprised that master has not noticed, he has been there some time)"_Voldemort frowned and turned slowly to the window. Nothing. He could see nothing! He crossed the room and stared hard out at the grass and the hedges and the dusty road, but still his eyes did not register any such person. "(_Can you not see him master? It seems he sees_ _**you**_)" Voldemort pressed his face to the glass and caught his own reflection. Suddenly an idea came to him, and he conjured a mirror beneath the window sill so as not to alert the muggle and held it to the window. As he looked into the mirror he saw a shimmering reflection of a boy in his late teens smiling directly at him. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone.

"Mortimer!" cried the Dark Lord, his eyes wide. He put his hands to the window, unstuck it with difficulty and pushed it outward letting in a soft warm breeze. He breathed it in, hoping for some sign that the boy had been real! But to no avail. He refrained from calling out to him, regardless of how dearly he wished to and pulled the window to a close, coughing a little as dust was thrown into the air around him. "(_Leave me_)" he hissed coldly and watched as the serpent slid away. He fell into a chair by the window and held his head in his hands. He tried his best not to cry. He tried his very best.

**. . .**

"Hi. Um. Is there something you wanted? Did you want to play with us?" Tom surveyed the two younger boys, with an air of distaste. He disregarded them for the moment and looked up to the oldest boy.  
"Why is your face red?" He asked as if he hadn't heard the question. The boy shrugged. He put his hands in his pocket and shuffled from foot to foot.  
"It's 'cause you're kinda cute, little orphan boy."  
"How do you-"  
"You all dress the same. I'm Mortimer." Tom said nothing. "You wanna be called 'Orphan Boy'?"  
"My name is Tom."  
"Good. You wanna play with us? This is Billy and John. You little ones run and I'll catch'ya. But I'll warn you Tommy-"  
"It's Tom-"  
"-I'm fast!" He continued ignoring the remark. "Ready? Set. Go!" John and Billy hurtled off in two different directions, but Mortimer didn't even notice them - he was looking straight at Tom. Tom ran - as hard and as fast as he could. What would the boy do once he caught him? Would he hurt him? He cast a quick glance behind him and ran behind a tree. "BOO!" Yelled Mortimer - Tom screamed and raised his arms. Mortimer laughed but the boy kept screaming. Suddenly he realised - Tom was crying. "Hey." He said putting his arms out to the boy and fighting to comfort him. "Hey, little Tom, calm down - I'm not trying to harm you." He had a soothing voice and Tom stopped struggling and looked up. He let the boy put his arms round him and pull him close to his side. "There you are, that isn't so scary now, is it?" Tom wiped his face with the back of his hand.  
"I th-thought you were going to hurt me..." He sniffed trying his hardest to regain his composure.  
"Seriously. Anyone would have thought you'd never played before."  
"No. I haven't." He admitted. Mortimer sighed and just looked at him, but Tom didn't really care for his pity. He was enjoying being wrapped in the boys arms, nestled into his side. Mortimer was warm and smelled like summer...  
"Do you like cuddles?" Asked Mortimer. "You seem to like them. I doubt you get many at that orphanage of yours, do you?" But Tom didn't reply.

. . .**  
T B C**


	2. Part 2 Tree House of Kings

Tom was huddled under his patched grey blanket, listening to the sounds of the light wind rustling the leaves of the summer trees. He was cold, laying in his lumpy bed and picking apart the events of the day. He had spent the majority of it wrapped in the arms of an older boy who, for the most part, seemed not to mind wasting a good deal of his time under a tree, comforting a complete stranger. The boys father had called for him eventually though and Mortimer, somewhat begrudgingly, had prized little Riddle from himself, smiled his goodbyes and traipsed off into the sunset. Tom had stayed for a short while after, watching his memory disappearing over the horizon, before making his own way 'home'. And here he was, wondering what emotions he was supposed to be feeling and whether, he was, in fact, feeling them.  
Emotions were something the boy Riddle couldn't quite wrap his head around. He was generally indifferent to most things and then there were these feelings of hatred he felt towards quite a number of people. There was also jealously, something he would actively deny to himself because, of course, what had he to be jealous of really? The more he thought about it the more he realised that these were all deemed negative emotions and he ought not feel _only_ negative emotions all the time. Positive emotions however, eluded him. Happiness was not quite possible in his situation. He had even, at just nine years of age, already given up on it. In fact, he perceived life to be a series of unfortunate events whereby ones situation could only deteriorate as one aged. Childhood - according to many conversations he had overheard between adults, were considered the happiest times of ones life. In that case then, if one were to think about this logically, the boy Riddle had absolutely nothing to look forward to...  
Tom shivered. He pulled the blankets up over his head and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander for a bit. He was walking along a dusty road between two dark green hedges that rose to such a height, even the tallest of men would not be able to peer over them. He could hear the sounds of birds and see the golden glow of the summer sun in the far distance, but the dark hedges cast a shadow over the boy and a mist enveloped him. _Mortimer... _Riddle thought as he made his way steadily forward, every outward breath a cloud of visible air. He shivered, his heart suddenly filled with dread. He was frightened. He pressed on, his pace quickening as the sky above him grew darker. _Mortimer..? _He thought again. Of all the things he could possibly have wanted at this very moment... Tom was running - he couldn't remember when his pace had increased to such an extent but he was bolting down this never-ending black road towards that hazy glow and then...

BANG! BANG!  
"Come on children, wake up. It is time for breakfast." Tom was rigid, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling above him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to catch his breath, before quickly getting up and dressed and leaving his tiny, empty, box room, to join the orphan swarm making its way to breakfast.  
The dining hall was not particularly impressive. One would probably not have assumed it would be, being that an orphanage such as this had no real need to impress anyone. It was a dreary grey colour, as were most things in Toms life and the dusty summer light shone through the dirty windows and cast across the rows of dirty wooden tables and benches that were uniformly arranged, side by side. The orphans trudged in in single file and accepted their helping of porridge with very little fuss. Tom sat at the end of one of these tables. He would have been alone had not one of the ladies responsible for providing these children with some sort of care, shuffled a small group of girls onto the opposite end against their will. Of course Riddle paid no attention to them. And they, in turn, paid none to him. All of the orphans at Wools' knew well by now that Tom Marvolo Riddle was best left be.  
Riddle finished his meal, washed out his bowl and proceeded to make his way towards one of the adults. He wished to ascertain permission to leave the house and wander for a bit. He had every intention, of course, if his request were to be denied, to do as he pleased, regardless. I suppose the woman he approached knew this as she waved him away with a forced smile mouthing the words "Yes, Tom" before he even had time to form his own. He left the room at an excitable pace (which had come quite unnaturally) and before he knew it, he had run out across the scraggly lawn and through the front gates into the sunny summers street of a very early morning. He stopped when he got to the road and watched as some rich and very handsome couple drove around the corner in a shiny new motorcar. He found himself quite taken by the noisy sound of the engine as it whirred past. But he snapped himself out of his reverie and ran right, across the road towards the park.  
When he passed through the iron gates and cast his eyes across the grassy clearing, over the pond and back to the nearby benches, he was disappointed to find that Mortimer was not there. So much so that he was suddenly over come by a wave of sorrow so strong it caused himphysical pain. He stood helpless for a while then, not quite sure what to do. Until he heard a familiar voice call his name and turned to see Mortimer making his way across the field towards him.  
The boy smiled at him and though, I am sure Riddle could have easily managed a smile in return had he wanted too, instead he simply waited, frowning, thinking to himself that Mortimer hardly even deserved a smile, being that he (however unintentionally) had raised Toms hopes and simultaneously let him down.  
"Hello, little Riddle. What are you doing here, so early?" Tom said nothing. He was contemplating what it would take for Mortimer to hold him again. And then he blushed indignantly, frustrated with himself for even thinking such a pathetic thought. "It must be annoying." Tom looked up suddenly. "Having to calculate everything you say and do before you say and do it... I don't know how a little kid can be so... serious." Mortimer gave him a sly smile and Riddle, caught by it in a way that he didn't quite understand, grew shy and turned away. That was unlike him. Mortimer put his hands in his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot. _He did that yesterday... _"So... do you want to go somewhere? - I know this place... a-a wood... there's a tree house... and everything! You want to go?" Tom nodded once and followed Mortimer through the park. They walked right across to the other side, crawled through a gap in the hedge and came out on to farm land that rolled off in to the dark fringe of a deep wood. Mortimer cast a few glances around before slowing down to walk next to Tom and taking his hand.  
Tom said nothing. Neither of them looked at each other until they reached the wood. They assumed it to be almost midday as they stepped over some twigs and branches and let the warm sun sprinkle through the canopy onto the uneven, leaf strewn ground. Mortimer pulled Tom over to a clearing a little in to the wood. Still clutching hold of the boy in his right hand, he pointed high in to the tree tops with his left, turned his big grinning face to Tom and said:  
"There it is Tommy. A tree house made for Kings!" And indeed it was. Built high among the branches, a series of thick heavily worn but still sturdy planks lay across creating a platform. There was a leafy roof and ropes hung down the trunk. Some smaller planks had been hammered into the trunk creating a crude ladder. Tom walked forwards. He was hesitant to break his neck trying to climb his way up to a derelict tree house that looked as though it had been built in the dark ages... Mortimer seemed to sense this and he rushed forward, grabbed Riddle by the elbows and threw him onto the first step. "I'll be right behind you!" He said as he grabbed hold of two adjacent ropes and hauled himself up behind Tom. Reluctantly Riddle climbed. He had difficulty pulling himself in to the tree house but eventually the two boys had made it and lay side by side on the rotting planks that smelled of damp and below the dying brown foliage of the roof and then they wondered what on earth they had bothered climbing all that way for. "I wish this tree house were like new." said Mortimer rolling onto one elbow to face Tom. Tom said nothing. Mortimer seemed to have some sort of power over him that made him feel weak. "Don't you?" He frowned at Riddles silence and rolled back. They lay there for a little while in silence. Tom shuffled closer to Mortimer, but the boy didn't seem to notice. He sat up and looked over. Mortimer was asleep. His breathing was soft and his light brown hair, tinged with blonde from the summer sun, fell over his face. Tom brushed his cheek with a cold pale hand, put his head down next to Mortimers' and slept.

**. . .**

It was raining, heavy sheets of cold, wet, autumn rain were falling and scattering across the ground giving everything a glistening haze. Tom was sat on his bed reading a book, while Mortimer was sat at Toms desk, tapping his foot and staring out of the dirty window.  
"I guess I don't mind the rain, but I don't like being told I have to stay in doors all the time."  
"Well _I _was starting to think you had never _been_ indoors before. It doesn't really suit you." Mortimer grinned. He jumped up and threw himself on to Toms bed. "When it's summer again, we should rebuild that tree house! We can get loads of wood and rope from the farm and I can ask my daddy to help us... Maybe he will..." Suddenly Mortimer's enthusiasm had vanished. He had told Tom that after his mother had died when he was a just a baby, it had been just him and his father up until about a year previous.

"_I was ten" _he had said _"and Daddy came home and he seemed really happy. I asked him "Why are you so happy?" And he picked me up and spun me around and he said "I know it has taken quite some time, Mortimer. But I've found you a new Mummy." I smiled then, because he was happy. But I didn't need a new mummy. I had my Daddy... And yet, ever since they got married and she came to live in Daddy's house... Daddy hasn't been the same. I don't think he even loves me anymore..."_

Tom patted Mortimer's head, it had become something he did quite frequently. And Mortimer hugged him for a while before he sighed and grumbled something about probably having to go home. Tom was reluctant to let him go - he was even trying to force himself to ask if Mortimer wanted to stay with him. He struggled internally for a while, but said nothing and let Mortimer smile and shuffle from the room. Tom heard his footsteps die and then he came running back and threw open the door.  
"Maybe I could stay here tonight? So I don't have to face that horrible woman... Dad won't even notice I'm gone and I'll hide under your bed during night checks." Tom frowned. He _had_ secretly wanted him to stay and he supposed it would be okay to share his blankets for _one_ _night_... He nodded. Mortimer grinned that triumphant grin of his and came hurtling towards Tom. He managed to stop himself just before Tom (while trying to protect himself) nearly bludgeoned him with the heavy tome he was reading "Why do you read such boring things?" He asked. Although he found reading in general quite boring and so the question he should have asked should have been "Why do you read? When you could be running around and jumping on things?" But no, the question he asked was not that. and neither did it seem that he truly cared for an answer. Of course Tom knew that what Mortimer was actually trying to say was that: he was fed up of being ignored. Tom smiled. He only ever smiled at Mortimer. And he closed his book, placed it on the desk and moved over to allow Mortimer to sit next to him. They reminisced about the summer, which had all but gone now and eventually fell asleep, their heads together, with the sound of the rain heavy at the window.

. . .

**T B C **


End file.
